The Enemy Within

His hand reaches for the handle. The backdoor is unlocked. He smiles and enters the house, gently easing the door shut behind. He tiptoes through the kitchen and then the dining room and into the hallway.

He stops and listens.

She's in the lounge.

He opens the door, just a fraction, enough to slip through. He sees her. She's sitting in a chair. Her eyes are closed, her breathing gentle.

He's almost upon her. She still hasn't heard him. He reaches out his hands and then ... she grabs him.

"Ah, Mom," he laughs, "How'd you know I was here?"

Two more little birds

Two little birds sitting on a wall.
One named Peter. One named Paul.
Fly away Peter. Fly away Paul.


Both hit a wind turbine and decapitated.
They aren't coming back.

Dinosaurs

Are cool. Can't wait for the Jurassic World film next year.

A New Jack Reacher Story

I entered a flash fiction writing contest on Janet Reid's blog at the weekend. It was in honour of Jeff Somer's new novel WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE. The rules were simple: write a 100 word story including the words, BLOOD, SPIRITS, PANTS, MAGIC and CAT. The blog post is here: http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/flash-fiction-writing-contest.html


I thought, in honour of The Shark, who loves Jack Reacher, that I'd write a short Jack Reacher story. And here it is:




Reacher approached Somers, silent as a dead cat floating on a cloud of fairy dust. He’d been on the spirits all day. Was he seeing things? Probably. Was he going to attempt this sober? Nope. Not a chance.

Reacher was a professional. He planned. He prepared. He killed fourteen gerbils and drank their blood. He needed the edge. And their magic.

Somers hadn’t heard him. Reacher was never heard. Just ask the gerbils.

It was time. He lunged, grabbed Somers’ pants and yanked them down. "The Shark sends her regards, Somers. Next time, hand in those revisions on time."